


Daytrip

by pensivebanana



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Day At The Beach, Domestic Fluff, No Plot/Plotless, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2163366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensivebanana/pseuds/pensivebanana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I always wanted to come here with you.”</p><p>“The beach?” Hanji grins.</p><p>“The ocean” MIke says, and it makes no sense, but Hanji takes his hand and understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daytrip

**Author's Note:**

> for jaegerleesi over at tumblr. finally writing for one of my OTPs. this is a reincarnation au.

When they wake up, the rain has stopped.

The window is fogged up with dew and the last of the rainfall, greens and yellows from the sun and trees washing through the room like a soft haze.

Mike feels Hanji sit up, he feels and hears them inhale deeply, he feels the warmth of their skin when he reaches out to keep them in bed but misses.

It’s hot, even this early in the morning, the heat pressing up against Mike’s skin until he can’t even stand the sheets covering his feet. He kicks them off and watches as Hanji stumbles out of their shorts before crouching down into a squat.

Hanji pulls a small duffel bag from under the bed.

Mike turns over and presses his face into the pillow, because Hanji just woke up two minutes ago and they're already up to something.

He hears them pulling open drawer after drawer and shuts his eyes.

Within a few breaths he's asleep again, and Hanji wakes him by dropping the now packed duffel bag on the floor. Mike jolts before glaring, and glances at the clock. It's been twenty eight minutes.

Hanji tosses a bottle of sunscreen towards Mike.

Mike doesn't really catch it. He lifts his hand and blocks the bottle before it can land on his face and watches with bleary eyes as it falls onto the bed, then to the floor.

Hanji huffs before grabbing the yellow bottle and shoving it into the bag.

“Get up, we have a long drive ahead of us.”

This time he catches the balled up swim trunks thrown in his face.

“Pool?” Mike’s voice is still rough and tight with a repressed yawn.

“Beach!”

"Erwin? Or Levi?"

"No, just us."

Hanji’s eyes go soft, and their grin melts down into a smile that Mike only catches a glimpse of before they turn and leave him with his faded trunks and a messily packed duffel bag.

At the McDonald’s drive-thru Hanji changes the station to Mike’s favorite without him asking. On the way to the beach, they keep flashing him smiles between greasy hash browns and orange juice.

At the red lights Mike rubs his eyes and listens as Hanji laughs too hards at the dirty jokes from the radio hosts. They laugh so hard their whole voice opens up and fills the car and Mike laughs too, tries not to kiss them in the middle of driving.

Hanji lathers the sunblock on themself in the car and leave white streaks all across their skin. As Mike drives, they reach over and wipe lotion onto his skin too, rub it into the creases of his frown when they spill some on the car seat.

“It smells like summer in here!” they say, and they pull a stripe of white sunblock down the bridge of Mike’s nose.

In the parking lot, Hanji stares at the water for one long moment before pulling off their shirt. Mike grabs the umbrella and follows Hanji out to the shore, plants it next to the spot where Hanji unfurled their beach towels.

The beach is wide, with rocks jutting out into the water on the far end, yellow-white sand glimmering under the heat of the sun. The horizon is striped with the blue of the sky and the sea.

Hanji kicks off their shorts and hums along to the radio playing a couple of yards down the shore.

They start singing along to the radio and scanning the shore, head turning left, then right, then slowly back again. Mike reaches out to rub in a missed spot of sunblock under the green strap of Hanji’s suit.

After another slow scan, Hanji points off down the shore.

“There it is.”

Mike peers and sees the white volleyball net and wonders why Hanji hadn’t seen it the moment they stepped onto the sand. Then he sees their glasses pushed up to the top of their head and pushes them back down their face to rest on their nose.

“Did you bring your spares?”

“No” Hanji replies, and they push the glasses up closer to their eyes before heading off towards the net.

They play volleyball against a bunch of college kids in neon mesh shirts and tiny shorts. Hanji says they should have invited Levi after all.

“He could stand on my shoulders and we’d kick ass.”

The sand burns their feet and they lose the game, but just barely. After, they collapse onto their beach towels and Hanji groans. They continue groaning even as they search blindly through the cooler for a bottle before shoving said bottle into a paper bag.

Mike squints through the sunlight to watch, and when Hanji rolls back onto the beach towel, he presses his arm up against theirs. Hanji chugs from the bottle, sweat dripping down their throat, and sighs.

They watch the roll of the tides for a moment before glancing over at Mike and laughing.

Mike smiles back.

“Isn’t this illegal?”

“Maybe, so don’t be obvious.”

Hanji swigs from the beer again, then hands it to Mike. The paper bag crinkles under his fingers, and he smiles against the mouth of the bottle when Hanji winks at him.

Later, the sun gets too hot and Mike huffs dry breaths, pressing the cold glass of the beer bottle to his forehead, paper bag crumpled and tossed aside, not caring much about hiding the label.

Hanji stands and brushes grains of sand from their bottom, and Mike doesn't bother to pretend he's not watching.

They cool off in the ocean.

The water is drags sand in and pulls at their feet, and they both chase the tug of the waves, washing away sweat and sand, walking until Hanji is up to their chest in water.

Hanji pushes Mike under the tide, and he sits under the water, listening to the roar of water rush past his head, looking for Hanji’s legs to pull them under too.

When they both surface Hanji yells and laughs that he’s a bastard, and Mike swims away, just within reach so that Hanji can catch him.

When they drag themselves back to their spot on the shore, Mike lets the sun beat him down until he’s prone on his beach towel, eyelids heavy. Hanji plops down next to him and digs their toes into the sand.

Through his lashes he sees the bright flash of Hanji’s smile.

“Falling asleep again, big guy?”

He grumbles, deep in his chest, and rests one hand on their thigh.

“You didn’t let me rest much last night.”

He falls asleep to the sound of Hanji cataloguing everything they found on the shore - sea glass and sand dollars, starfish and shells.

He dreams about white sheets stained red, the smell of wet earth, and the green of the forest. He sees children carrying blades. There are stark, deep bruises on his thighs. He’s in a bed that smells of himself, and of Hanji. Other times he can smell something rancid, upwind and miles away. The scent slides down his throat and the adrenaline through his veins screams _run or fight run or fight._

He always chooses to fight, although he doesn’t know his enemy.

When he wakes up Hanji runs a finger down the bridge of his nose.

"You're brown now." They say, and their hands spread over his cheekbones, fingertips skimming over stubble and tanned skin.

Mike kisses them and tastes the sea salt and beer on their mouth.

It wasn’t a new dream, but every time he has it, it feels good to touch Hanji’s skin. Like it’s the first time in centuries.

Hanji hums against his mouth and says, “I forgot to pack lunch.”

“But you remembered the beer.”

“There’s a sandwich shop in town.”

Mike stretches back, reaching his hands and feet out as far as they can go, and thinks on a sandwich.

“What time is it?”

Hanji grabs the cellphone before he can even think to reach for it.

“Time to eat.”

Hanji wrings their hair out into the sand and they rinse their feet with a water bottle before turning their backs on the shore.

On the walk back through the parking lot, Mike shrugs the bag onto his shoulder and looks back over the litter to watch the horizon one more time. Then he looks at Hanji, tanned and smiling, swinging the cooler by their side.

“I always wanted to come here with you.”

“The beach?” Hanji grins.

“The ocean” he says, and it makes no sense, but Hanji takes his hand and understands.


End file.
